


A Little Less Conversation

by orphan_account



Series: Conversation [3]
Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M, multi-chaptered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From tiny acorns...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an epic - if I can focus long enough to actually bloody write it!

 

 

A little less conversation...

 

Syed had spent a portion of every day over the last two weeks with Yasmin – and Amira. Christian didn't mind, really he didn't, but each time Syed returned to the flat, to Christian, there seemed to be a little less of him, like some part of him – the greater part – was still lingering there with his daughter, her mother.

Christian had never been jealous of Amira as a rival for Syed's affections, not the way he might have had it been another man, an ex lover, but he'd always been jealous of what she represented for Syed: aware as he so forcefully had been that she was a symbol of everything Syed wanted – and couldn't ever really have. Each time it had come to it Syed had chosen her over him. In many ways he was _still_ doing that. And Christian understood, he really did, and rationally, logically knew it wasn't about rejecting him, not caring about _his_ feelings. It just _felt_ like it somehow. For instance he was sure he had never seen that light in Syed's eyes whenever Syed looked at _him_ and he for damn sure knew that he never got that catch in his voice whenever he spoke of Christian to others, like Christian was a dream come true, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And if it had been _their_ child it wouldn’t have mattered, but Amira hated him, didn't want Yasmin to even acknowledge that her daddy had a partner – and Syed was going along with it. Yes he knew that he had to, that it was necessary to keep Amira on side, but every day, each day that he came home buzzing after spending time in Yasmin's company Christian couldn't help wondering whether Syed wasn't losing sight of the end goal – gain access for _both_ of them, to have it made _official_ if it came to it.

Syed was happy, content and that hurt him in some obscure way, especially as he didn't really know _how_ to tell him it hurt.

One thing he knew, however, was that _simmering_ , sitting on stuff hardly ever benefited _anyone_ in the long run. God, if anyone should know that much it would be him and Sy. So, of course he had to tell him; tell him how he was feeling, and hope he could bear to see that look in his eye; the look that spoke of the helpless pain and frustration that came with the recognition that once again everything he _thought_ could be his was slowly slipping through his fingers.

But he'd find a way to make it right – had to: having a child was so important to them both, there was just no way they were going to mess up this opportunity.

He was just...tired...of talking and talking and getting nowhere: Syed heard him, agreed with him, but it was all intellectual. When it came to it, all the talk just fizzled out in favour of what he felt in the moment; what he wanted. And Christian didn't blame him – he just didn't want it to always have to _be_ that way.

 

**

Amira hated when he brought Christian into the conversation. She'd stiffen and her eyes would flash, though she never actually _said_ anything. She _rarely_ said anything nasty about him these days, but her hard-line stance had altered not even a little bit. She probably didn't realise that he was able to see through her: the way she'd do all those little things to make him feel like a proper dad, make him want to cement the bond with Yasmin. She didn't need to, of course: he adored their little girl, but the fact that she felt that she had to told him just how tenuous she, at heart, believed their link to be. And no point in pretending that he didn't kept bringing Christian into the conversation to remind her that _they_ would never be together, that it was about them as parents to Yasmin – nothing else. And that, he supposed, was why she'd probably _always_ hate Christian.

“Syed, it's Yasmin's birthday next week-”

“I know.”

“I know you do. I was thinking; could we have a party for her? It doesn't have to be anything big.”

He examined her face for a moment, knowing that there was probably an ulterior motive there, but unable to see it. “At your dad's place?”

“No, no.” She still hadn't told her dad that she'd made contact with Syed and that they were seeing Yasmin together – like real parents, like a real married couple. “I thought maybe at your mum's place?”

Yes, of course: she knew that his mum would make all the arrangements, fall over herself to make the day absolutely perfect. Yes, of course it would be at his mum's place. “Well, I don't know. Maybe we should hire somewhere.”

“Oh no, no need to go to so much trouble. Besides I want to keep it small – just family.”

Family? Would that include her dad, then? “Well we'd have to ask mum first.” Obviously she was going to say yes, but he didn't want Amira to start believing that she could simply slot in again, get her feet under the table now she'd given his mum her first grandchild.

“Oh, of course.” But he could see her thinking – knowing – that asking was just a politeness, a formality. “Just tell her not to make too much of a fuss, Syed. I really mean do want to keep it quite informal.”

Well, either she was being really disingenuous or she really didn't know his mother that well.

Yasmin was smiling up at him, and taking hold of her tiny hand he lost himself in the intensely primal pleasure of knowing that he'd had a hand in creating this wonderful, beautiful being - perfect, so perfect in every way.

“She loves you.”

Syed smiled at his daughter. “I love her too.”

There was a heavy silence then, and he didn't need to hear the words to know what she was thinking.

“Christian's going to absolutely spoil her, I just know it. He'll buy the biggest, most girly present you ever saw!” He tickled Yasmin under the chin, making her squirm and giggle.

“He's not invited.” Her voice was cool, nearly as chilly as the waves of hostility he could feel starting to envelop him.

He looked up at her. “He's coming.”

She stood, hands on the handles of the pushchair. “Well, it's not happening then. Come on, Yasmin, let's go home.”

He stood, watched her fuss with Yasmin's clothing, pack up all her stuff. “If you think you can have a party at my mother's house without me, then you must be delusional, Amira.”

“Really? You honestly think your mother will side with you over this? Look, Syed, you're the one who's delusional if you think that Zainab would rather lose access to her granddaughter than not have your _lover_ at her birthday party. Grow up!”

He watched her prepare to leave, her slight figure rigid with furious indignation.

“You'd do that, deny Yasmin access to people who love her just because you hate him?”

“Yes!”she spat. “Yes!” And practically mowing him down she manoeuvred the pushchair out of the shop, not bothering to thank the man who'd opened the door for her.

 

He didn't follow her.

 

**

He didn't tell Christian what had happened with Amira, just told him that Yasmin was having a birthday party at his mum's the following week and did he want to get a joint present?

 

**

Amira called him a few days after the incident and apologised, but assured him that she hadn't changed her mind. He told her that after having broached the subject of Yasmin's birthday party his mother had agreed to make all the arrangements so all Amira had to do was ensure that Yasmin was there, oh and since Christian was as much a part of the Masood family as Afia _he'd_ be there too.

There’d been a long, long silence on the other end of the line until finally she'd agreed that okay, Yasmin would be there, but that Christian wasn't allowed anywhere near her.

He'd conceded that, then, happily let it go.

 

**

Syed, for some reason, had wanted to have sex that afternoon.

To look at him one wouldn't think he could get as down and dirty as he sometimes got, but since Christian would very much rather _not_ have anyone ogling him any more than they currently did (and had they known what he was like under the sheets there would have been more than _ogling_ going on he reckoned) he wasn't exactly crying about it.

Syed liked giving head, which, to be honest, was what might accurately be called an understatement. It was this fact, coupled with his obvious, very apparent proficiency at this act that had made Christian know - the first time they'd been intimate - that he was definitely _not_ a straight guy playing away from home. There'd been guys who'd been more technically gifted; deeper throats, bigger hands, but not one of them had made him feel the way Syed made him feel. And this had been there from the very first time. God, no, you didn’t fall in love with a guy just because he loved your cock, but he supposed it had been more that Syed communicated through sex, more so than he did in day-to-day interaction, and what he'd been communicating had got to him. Yeah, yet another understatement. Syed had got to him in every bloody way you could interpret that phrase.

He'd never, ever thought he'd be hooked, and certainly not by someone like Syed. He'd _had_ the intense, stupid, heartbreaking love affairs and since they fucking _hurt_ he'd resolved never to let anyone in that way again. But when Syed came along he couldn't recall even fucking _trying_ to keep him out – he'd been open from the start, and it was only when Syed started breaking him into little pieces that he recalled, with not even the tiniest jot of ironic amusement, that long-held resolution. By then it had been too late, of course. Syed was in, and getting him out, finding the roots, the sticky tendrils that had grown and grown, somehow finding their way to every part of his being, had been an impossible ask.

And he was no longer asking.

As far as he was concerned this was for keeps.

He could tell by the way Syed loved him that afternoon that he felt the same.

 

**

Christian kept shooting him these looks, and it was all he could do to not burst out laughing in the middle of the party, so full of joy he felt he might explode. Christian had been whining for some little while about the length of his hair, about how it was too short now for him to get a proper grip, but Syed could attest to the fact that he certainly hadn’t been complaining earlier that afternoon, that he seemed to be managing just fine with the grip he did have. Judging by the look in Christian's eyes these thoughts must have been written all over his face or something.

“Now you, Syed. Syed!”

“Er-”

“Stop dreaming, you silly boy, and come over here.” His mother pulled him roughly by the shoulders. He felt 6 years old, not the 27 year old father of a baby girl he actually was. “You sit here- No here, on the other side! Do you ever actually _listen,_ Syed?”

He could sense Christian stifling the urge to laugh out loud, even from the other side of the room, even without looking in his direction. “Mum,” he protested, though he didn't really know why – there was only family here, and in any case she was hardly likely to let his mortification stop her.

“Oh sit down! And you, you my little darling, do you want some roti? Yes? Yes, you do, don't you? You love your food, don't you? You have a better appetite than your daddy did when he was your age, don't you? Your daddy refused to eat any of my food. I think if it was left to him he would still be on baby milk. Oh yes, he would.”

“Mum!”

“Hasn't changed much – still love your milk don't you, Sy?”

Syed glared at Christian, trying hard to stop the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. “Are you going to stand there all day or what?” He could see his mum's glare, but ignoring it, made a point of pulling out the chair beside him.

Christian, taking his cue from Syed, walked over with confidence and sat down. “Hey lover.”

“Hey.” Syed kissed him on the cheek. “Meet my daughter.” They both turned to look at Yasmin who was in her high chair, staring at Christian whose was a face completely new to her. She seemed _fascinated_.

“Oh I think she needs changing.” Amira began to undo the straps of Yasmin's chair.

“Let me.” He started getting to his feet.

“No, it's okay, I've got her.”

“I can do it, Amira, you know I can. And I do need to get used to it.”

“No,” she snapped, lifting Yasmin into her arms. “I'll manage. Afia could you get her bag for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Syed didn't miss the glance she and Tam shared. He didn't really know what either of them thought of the situation. All he knew was that Tam seemed to have got over the crush he'd had on Amira and Afia seemed entirely...neutral.

He put a reassuring, apologetic hand on Christian's knee and felt a jolt of pleasure as it was immediately covered by Christian's own.

“Don't fret. I'm here, aren't I? She can't stop me _looking_. And smiling.”

“And making faces.”

“That too.” They smiled at each other, hands instinctively coming together and entwining. “She's beautiful, Sy.”

“I know,” he agreed, unable to hold back the smugly proud smile that seemed always just a thought away whenever he was anywhere near his daughter. He leaned in and whispered in Christian's ear. “Our daughter.” And didn't even _try_ to hold back the blush at the look Christian sent his way.


	2. Chapter 2

He really didn’t know why his dad was looking so shocked: which part of life partner did he not understand? He knew they were sleeping together, so why then was a little show of intimate affection so shocking? Not that he looked _shocked_ , exactly; probably not the right word. More like discomfited – discomfited and disapproving. Syed allowed himself an internal sigh. Obviously his parents were never going to really accept his relationship with Christian, and maybe he shouldn’t keep holding out hope that they would. At least they were making concessions these days, and really, that was all he could ask.

“Just going to check on Yasmin. You'll be okay won't you?” He asked because it seemed churlish not to: he was, after all, about to leave him alone in the lion's den. But if anyone could handle these particular lions it would be Christian.

“Oh go on. Course I can. Me and Zainab'll exchange recipes, won't we Zainab?”

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that Christian would rile his mum to the point she'd end up doing him actual bodily harm, so maybe being as fearless as Christian undoubtedly was might, in this instance, be considered _something_ of a handicap. “Behave,” he warned, getting to his feet. “I won't be long. Just going to check on Yasmin,” he informed the room at large, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he just couldn't bear to be away from his daughter for even _one_ unnecessary second.

“Amira has it in hand, Syed. She doesn't need you interfering.”

Since his mum rarely engaged her sensitivity mode prior to speaking he chose not to react to this the way he was certainly tempted to. “I do know what I'm doing, mum. And I know dad used to take care of us that way all the time. Why shouldn't I?”

He could practically _see_ the words hurtling uncontrollably from her brain to her mouth, but could also sense his dad's quelling presence exerting its usual influence. It always amazed him that his dad could influence her in that way all without saying a single word, and even more that she'd _allow_ herself to be so influenced. Grateful, though, that he was then thus able to leave without the gauntlet of words he'd otherwise have to run. 

His mum was his mum, but still... he was resolved not to let her exert undue influence over his daughter, that was for sure. He could see, now he was a little older, that while in many ways she was a really good mother, in many other ways she'd done damage to her children. And wasn't convinced that she could see this or would even recognise if and show she'd be damaging Yasmin. So, no, he wouldn’t allow her a free hand with his daughter, at all.

Funny, he mused as he ran lightly up the stairs, he knew many mothers, but could think of not a single one he'd unreservedly laud as good mother material. But what did _he_ know? He most certainly didn't know that _he'd_ be seen as good father material, either. He thought Christian might be, but maybe it was easier when the kid wasn't yours, when it could be handed back its mummy at the end of a few happy hours baby sitting. Perhaps if he – Syed - had to look after Yasmin for a week – by himself- he'd be a little more appreciative of Amira, and Roxy and all the other mothers, his ow included. 

His mum had definitely taken care of all their physical needs, and it was only later, as he'd matured that he could see that she'd stifled them in many small, but significant ways; imposing her will, exerting control over what they thought, how they related to the world. At the time he'd actively appreciated that, knowing that, unlike many of his school mates, he, Shabnam and Tamwar had a really stable home life. Yet it was because of that, because he'd been so much the product of his parents beliefs, not only in terms of religion, but politics too, that when it came to finding out who he really was he'd found himself floundering, unable to reconcile what he _felt_ with the version of himself held by and bestowed upon him by his parents.

It was _still_ there, still a struggle in many ways, but he was finally getting to grips with it, finally understanding that respecting his parents didn't have to mean being who they wanted him to be, respecting them meant having the courage to still love them while being wholly who he was and never again feeling that the two were entirely irreconcilable.

And that was what love _did_ , wasn't it? How he knew for certain that he was meant to be with Christian and

not Amira, for loving Christian forced him to be his authentic self: once he fell in love with him everything he wasn't, all the ways he was being inauthentic came sharply into focus. And the fact that he Immediately sought solace, a hiding place within the marriage to Amira, pretty much brought home to him just how wrong it was, how untrue to himself he was being – how cowardly.

God, Christian _forced_ him to brave, where Amira encouraged him to hide, to take the easy road. Even now she was offering what she'd always offered him: hide, pretend, be something he was not just to make things easy – for him, for her, for his family.

She couldn't know how much he'd changed; how much being with Christian, loving Christian had altered his course, stopped the headlong free-fall into an empty, disastrous life of inauthenticity.

She couldn't know either just how much her unexpected appearance, spending time in her presence, cemented his knowledge that Christian had pretty much saved his life, saved it from being lost under the untenable weight of duty; parental and community expectation; a lifetime with a partner incapable of getting anywhere near his core, incapable of lighting him up, making him cry from the pure bliss of connection.

Amira was sure that she could win him back through the love of his daughter, not realising that the guilt had gone, subsumed in the understanding that had he remained married to her, remained inauthentic he would have made her life an absolute misery, blaming her – all without ever admitting it either to himself or anyone else - for effectively ruining his life. Yes, Yasmin and any brothers or sisters she may have had would have gone some way in alleviating the frustration, the emptiness, but he knew that he would have taken the bulk of his frustration out on Amira. He and his mother were very like, in many ways, and certainly in this way. He saw it all the time with her and his father – how she'd take it all out on him, not even apologising afterwards, not even really aware that what she was in the habit of doing was in any way unfair or unacceptable. His mother tended to think her way was paramount, her views unassailable, all who disagreed or stood in opposition misguided idiots. Well, he didn't share that trait, only the tendency to blame those closest to him for his woes, for his own failings. He did still recall the way he'd bullied Amira into coming off the pill, and yes he was ashamed of that, but had he known that he would eventually end up with Christian he wouldn't have put her through that – through any of it. That didn’t entirely absolve him, no, but had she only told him she was pregnant...

Of course that would have changed so much, would almost definitely have forced his hand so far as actually finding his way to Christian went, but he honestly hoped that he'd have eventually found the courage to be with him anyway, _without_ Fate lending a hand.

He honestly couldn't _imagine_ life without him, couldn't imagine ultimately choosing to be with Amira and not Christian, but he was all for Fate lending a helping hand, giving the dice a little push in the right direction... 

 

*

He assumed Amira would have taken Yasmin to Afia's room, and was proved right when he saw that the door was slightly ajar, their voices, not loud, but clear.

“Well I took _my_ vows seriously. Didn't you?”

“Well yeah, of course. I'm just saying-”

“Syed's my husband, the father of my child. I won't forget my vows just because it's convenient – for some people.” 

He paused on the threshold, knowing he should knock, interrupt, or better yet walk away...

“I know you don't like him, and I can understand, but-”

“Tell me, Afia, how would you feel if I had an affair with Tamwar – your husband – took him away, started a life with him, didn't even _attempt_ to admit that what I did was wrong, and yet expected to be a part of your daughter's life – like nothing had happened, like I deserved it? How would you feel?”

There was a brief silence in which he was sure that the loud, thumping beat of his heart would send one or both racing outside to investigate. They wouldn’t be able to hear his breath, though, because he was holding it...

“I'd hate you, wouldn't want you anywhere near them.”

“Yes, I thought you'd-”

“But I'd hate Tamwar _more_. And that's the thing – you don't, don't hate Syed, just Christian. I can't understand that.”

He was still holding his breath, not wanting to hear this, but unable to tell himself to just move away.

Amira didn't reply at once, and he could hear her cooing softly to Yasmin, clearly not wishing to answer the question. He had no idea what she was going to say, just knew he wasn't ready to hear it. “Do you love Tamwar?”

“Of course I do – he's my husband.”

“And Syed's mine – for better or worse...”

“Yes, but he hasn't only left you for someone else, he's left you for another guy – he's gay.”

“He's with Christian, now, but he was with me too. How does that make him _gay_?”

He felt his jaw drop open: is that what she thought, was thinking?

“Yes, but he i _s_ gay, isn't he? Tam told me that-”

“No offence, Afia, but Tamwar's a kid, he doesn't understand.”

“No offence, Amira, but I don't think you've any right to say that about my husband. He's a better husband than Syed could ever be, and obviously _we_ have a better relationship than you and Syed did. We don't keep secrets and we put each _other_ first, so, though you may be older than me, I don't think you have any right to think that you can lecture me about relationships.”

“That wasn't what I was doing-”

“I am really, really sorry that things didn't work out for you and Syed, and really, really sorry you're unhappy, but if you're trying to punish Syed by messing up his current relationship...”

“I'm not.” Her voice was rising. “I hate him, I really do, and I'm not going to pretend I don't, but I'm not setting out to mess things up for Syed.” Afia's ensuing silence spoke of her scepticism. Amira obviously thought so too as she hastily continued: “Look, I was completely resigned to never seeing him again, to bringing Yasmin up alone, with only my dad supporting us. It was a shock when your dad got in touch-”

“My dad? What do you mean?”

“Yes, he phoned me – god knows how he got my number – to tell me that Syed and Christian were planning to get married.” She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “I had no idea they were even _together_ , so imagine my surprise.”

“My dad, phoned you? How? Wh-?”

“Well obviously he knows that them getting married is a joke, a travesty.”

“My dad doesn't think that.”

“He _told_ me, suggested I come as soon as I could, so clearly he _wanted_ me to remind Syed why he couldn't even _think_ of marrying Christian.”

“And you came here to stop them getting married? It didn't have anything to do with wanting Syed to meet his daughter?”

“Of course it did, it has _everything_ to do with Syed getting to know Yasmin.”

Afia made a sound. “But that doesn't make sense – you came here to stop them getting married-”

“I didn't say that.”

“But you're here so that Syed can get to know Yasmin? I don't think I understand.”

“Look, we'd better be getting back.” There were sounds of rustling, clothing being adjusted. “Thanks for your help.” Syed could tell she was smiling, voice light, bright.

“You're welcome,” Afia replied, voice low and...uncertain. “Can I hold her, take her downstairs?”

“Sure. Here you are.”

Syed turned and hurried down the stairs, mind racing. He hesitated only for a moment before continuing out the front door, needing time to himself, time to order his scattered thoughts away from the scrutiny of his family, Christian.

Yusef? Yusef had got in touch with Amira, told her to stop them getting married?

What the _hell_?

 

**

Amira returned, studiously avoiding his eyes. “Well we don't want to hold up the party any longer.” She turned to Afia, who was holding Yasmin in her arms. “My daughter is a year old today and I don't know about anyone else but I'm ready to party!”

Predictably only Masood and Tamwar gave her the response she was hoping for. Zainab glared at everyone – not him, since that would have meant actually making the effort to turn in his direction, after all – making her displeasure (why, exactly?) clear for all to see. Afia shot him a sheepish glance, and as it occurred to him to wonder what that glance might have to do with Syed (and where the hell was he by the way) he felt the buzz of the phone against his hip.

Syed: quick, terse message to meet him outside without making a fuss. So his instincts had been right: Afia's weird little glance did have something to do with Syed. What the hell _now_?

“Just popping next door for a sec.” He made a point of hiding the phone; hoping no-one was paying him enough attention to connect his departure with the phone call – or Syed's absence. But sooner rather than later the fact that the baby's daddy was absent was going to be an issue problem. He just hoped that whatever had happened or was happening with Syed wouldn't be complicated. The last thing they needed was to have Yasmin's first birthday marred by melodrama.

Vain hope, really: he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of Masood celebrations that hadn’t, lately, ended in high melodrama.

Tamwar, Afia and Masood, were polite enough to at least look in his direction and give varying degrees of acknowledgement: Amira and Zainab ignored him completely.

Charming.

Syed wasn't actually next door, he was skulking just outside looking agitated and ridiculously beautiful. Grabbing hold of Christian's arm he marched next door, and Christian had a mad, wonderful moment when he wondered if he was about to get the blow-job of his life.

“Yusef, that bastard!” Syed let go the moment the front door closed behind him, slamming his way into their flat. “I have _never_ trusted him. I don't know why mum wouldn't listen to dad when she told him he was up to no good. I swear I could-” He made a sound of angry frustration, throwing himself at the sofa.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Sitting beside him, Christian took the hand nearest to him and held it between his. He could feel the pulsing beat of Syed's agitation under his fingertips. “Okay, now, care to tell me what's got you in this state? You were like a pussycat earlier.”

Syed met his eye, his teasing smile and seemed to make the decision to calm down, despite his still very obvious upset. “I have never known anyone better – or worse – at making inappropriate comments.”

“And that, lover,” He kissed him gently, but fully on the lips. “Is why you love me.”

“It is?” He wasn't pulling away, lips moving against slowly, deliberately Christian's.

“Oh yeah.” What was this? Even when they'd been fighting, when Christian was mad as hell with Syed, all he had to do was get close, smell Syed's familiar scent, feel the warmth of his skin – or even merely recall the warmth of his skin – and he was gone, entirely putty in Syed's hands. It wasn't sex, even, just love. No wonder it had taken him so long to fall. Who the fuck could live like this?

“I wish we didn't have to get back.”

“Don't tempt me.” Bad idea to kiss him properly? Yeah, definitely. Sighing, he pulled reluctantly away, sought Syed's eyes. “Now, what's got you so het up. Something about Yusef?”

Christian could see the brief flash of frustration in Syed's eye, then the return of the agitation. He turned away, jaw clenched. “Apparently Yusef's the one who told Amira to come to Walford, told her we were planning on getting married.”

For a moment Christian was silent, not entirely able to see the problem: isn't that what they'd wanted – for Amira to get in touch so they could get her to sign the divorce papers? “Oh.”

“Christian! He told her, told her so that she could fuck things up for us.”

Still not really seeing it. “Yes, but I don't see how that would make a difference – either she'll grant you a divorce or she won't.”

“Well you obviously don't know her very well then.”

“I know she can be a spiteful madam when she wants, but...” How best to say: 'but regardless, if you want a divorce badly enough it shouldn’t matter how much of a madam she's being'. Syed could be a little sensitive to perceived criticism at times.

“Christian, I don't want to have to get lawyers involved. That would be so messy, and there's no guarantee we'd gain access...”

“Pretty sure you would.”

“But that would mean us coming under scrutiny and I don't want our lives under the microscope if I can help it.”

Sighing, he put a reassuring arm around Syed's shoulders. “I know. I don't either, but if that's what she plans on doing...”

“You were right: she's still in love with me.” His voice was quiet, expression pained, and he wasn't meeting Christian's eye. He looked embarrassed, uncomfortable, but not as guilty as Christian might have expected.

“I don't know what to say, Sy. I'm sorry it's such a mess. And I don't hate Amira, you know that.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you did, but that's not really you.” he was looking into his eyes now, running a slender finger across the sensitive skin on the back of Christian's hand. “You always put her first, always tried to get me to do the right thing. At the time I honestly didn't understand, didn’t ever think of her, of what I was doing to her. You did, you got it, and it makes me so mad that she hates you when you were the one who did all you could to protect her.”

“I couldn’t let you go any more than she could,” he corrected, no longer feeling guilty about Amira, but certainly not willing to deflect the blame either. “I could have walked away, oh many, many times and I never did and it wasn't for noble reasons, Sy. I wasn't noble then, not noble now. I was willing to fight for you then, still am.” He pulled him closer. “You know that, don't you? I don't care how many microscopes they want to put me under, if it means you getting what you want I'll strip off naked and dance in front of Buckingham Palace - “

Syed stopped him with a laughing kiss for his mouth, and a playful, admonishing pinch for his arm. “Look, Buckingham Palace already has one Queen, they don't need another!”

He was about to respond – physically – when the buzzer sounded.

As one they turned and stared in the direction of the front door.

 

**

“Mum says to come sort of _now._ ” Tamwar was looking uncomfortable and just a little peeved; he'd probably thought that once he got married it'd be the end of getting it in the ear on a regular basis from indomitable women. No such luck; looked like the Masood men were destined to attract women who were no more than little clones of Zainab Masood. He was fairly certain that neither Amira nor Afia would welcome the comparisons, but there was no doubt in his mind – from his new vantage point – that that was pretty much what they were.

He really hadn’t thought it through at all – the engagement and marriage to Amira – because the last thing he actually wanted was to end up like his dad, at the mercy of a woman like his mum, fooling himself that he was master of his home, when everyone knew differently. Still, his parents had managed to make it work – when it worked – but he wasn't as pacific as his dad and knew that he and Amira would definitely have clashed on a regular basis, especially as there wasn't the love there to keep them trying.

He now knew that duty would probably not have been enough to keep him there. 

He'd learned so much about himself these last few years, a lot of it stuff he'd rather _not_ have had shoved in his face, rather not have been forced to acknowledge and deal with, but no gain without pain, as they say. And really, now he'd excavated all that muck, it was just harder to hide, harder to take the easy road, lie to himself. How many years had he spent doing just that; how much effort expended to keep himself hidden from himself? But again he would have continued with Amira, with his parents, all of them colluding, albeit unconsciously, to keep the lie alive. 

It was _Christian_ who had made him come clean. 

And he hadn't known till then that that was love _did_ , what love demanded from you – complete transparency, total authenticity: if you weren't able to give all of yourself to your beloved – warts and all – how then could you ever believe that when he said he loved you he truly _meant_ it? How could he _truly_ love you if you were keeping parts of yourself hidden away? Syed was sure that even now Christian had no damn idea just how much impact he'd had; how the simple act of loving Syed had pretty much turned him inside out and upside down, willing now to do whatever it took – all the dirty work, the scary, upsetting self-confrontation, self-reflection that came with trying to discover who you really were, and calling it worth the time, worth the pain. 

“Yeah, we'll be there in a minute.”

“Syed.” Tamwar didn't need to say it for Syed to know what he was thinking.

Touching him lightly on the arm, he smiled and nodded. “I mean it, Tambo – just a sec.”

Sighing, Tamwar shook his head and started down the path. “I'm not sure it's that great an idea you living just next door, you know.”

“Tell me about it.” Christian pulled Syed into his arms, warm breath stroking his ear. “Why do you think we have music blasting at all hours of the night?”

“Shhh,” Syed admonished, wriggling free. Yeah, of course his family knew he and Christian slept together, but now poor Tamwar was going to associate the sound of music from their place with all sorts, and that was just very slightly mortifying. “Tell mum we're just behind you, Tambo,” signalling with his eyes to ignore Christian.

Making a face, Tamwar continued on his way.

“Now you're going to give him all kinds of ideas,” he scolded, pushing past Christian to fetch his keys.

“Well, I know this may shock you, but I get the impression that your brother and sister-in-law have a pretty active sex life. Afia is _definitely_ not as innocent as she appears to be.”

Syed frowned at him, aware that Christian had hinted at something similar in the past. He'd dismissed it then because he'd been slightly tipsy at the time and Syed hadn't wanted to hear it. He sort of didn't want to hear it now, either, but in any case didn't have time to engage in any inappropriate discussions of his brother's love life. “Whatever. Let's go before mum _explodes_. And could you make it look a little _less_ like you've been bending me over the bloody sofa all this time, please?”

Christian's roar of laughter made him smile. “Oh don't worry hon, they all think _you're_ the top!”

“Shut up,” he suggested, pushing Christian ahead of him, the door closing loudly behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Amira was a player, he'd always thought so. He'd personally thought, at the time that she and Syed were going out, that she was way out of his league. Had Syed really been straight, really in love with her she would’ve run rings around him. But the only reason, as it turned out that she'd been able to play him was because he'd been willing to be played.

That had changed.

Funny watching them together, the way she thought _she_ was in charge, the one getting their own way, and confidently expecting that she would _eventually_ have it all.

She was in love with him, that was clear for all to see, and he could see that this was swaying Syed's parents to her cause (if the fact that she'd given them a grandchild hadn't been enough).

But Syed wasn't swayed.

It was only because Christian knew him so well that he could see the coolness, the utter control Syed was displaying. On the surface he was affectionate, friendly, very much giving the appearance of a man easy in her company, a man who held her in high regard. Only Christian, it seemed, recognised that there was very little _genuine_ warmth there. He knew that Syed had heard something that had upset him, and clearly it was more than the fact that Yusef had apparently interfered in his business, he just wasn't ready to share as yet, but whatever it was had affected his attitude toward Amira.

Christian just wondered how much effect that would have on Syed's stated intent to keep things smooth, keep her sweet till such time that they could be certain of their position vis a vis access rights to Yasmin...

Well clearly they'd have to talk, and sooner rather than later.

 

**

It was pretty obvious that Afia's attitude toward him had changed. He couldn't say for sure _how_ it had changed nor what had caused the change, but it had definitely changed.

He caught her shooting him these weird little looks, smiling when he caught her eye, but unconvincingly, like she couldn't quite get her facial muscles to obey the instructions from her brain. And because Christian, for all he pretended to be shallow and unobservant, watched him like a hawk and was pretty good at reading people and atmosphere, he could also sense the change. He was careful, however, not to say anything nor draw _attention_ to the fact that he could see it, choosing instead to do his customary life and soul of the party act (thoroughly annoying both Amira and his mum in the process).

But Syed knew that once they got home he'd be asked – nicely – about that conversation he'd overheard. Christian knew him far too well not to have drawn certain correlations between his mood and that overheard conversation, and would, gently, but persistently worm it out of him. And it wasn't like he _wanted_ to hide anything from him, just that he was having a hard time assimilating it himself. He still wasn't sure what he thought about the fact that Amira was so possessive of him, still considered him her husband – in every way that mattered (to her), apparently – clearly still had hopes on a certain renewal of their relationship. He'd honestly thought that she _accepted_ the fact that he was gay, not merely with Christian for shits and giggles, but with him because he was _gay_ – not straight, not bi, just thoroughly, irrevocably _gay._

They'd never _had_ that conversation, of course – not properly, not when they'd both been calm and able to discuss it sensibly – so yeah, perhaps it still didn't seem quite real to her. Thing is he didn't know that it was such a good idea bringing it up that way. Wasn't like she'd told _him_ what she felt, what she thought. As far as _she_ knew he was none the wiser in the matter of her true feelings. Better to keep it that way? Trouble was could he really ask, really expect Christian to do the same? Christian wasn't good at keeping secrets; deception wasn't something that came easily to him, and if he didn't like you, or felt you were fucking with him or his he'd struggle to keep it locked away inside, though Syed knew that he'd sure as hell try for his sake...

“Son.” Turning in surprise, he saw his dad beckoning him from the doorway.

Seeking Christian's gaze he mouthed: “Back in a bit,” before following his dad into the front lounge. 

His dad had been surprisingly light-hearted during the party, acting very much like he used to, the fact of Yusef's sojourn in Pakistan having a subtle but noticeable effect not only on his mood, but also with regard to his attitude toward their mother. There was still a lot more tension than he wanted to see between them, but he had to admit that it was pretty nice seeing them actively _trying_ to get on, make that effort for the sake of the family.

If only bloody Yusef would bloody well _stay_ in Pakistan.

Should he tell his dad that he suspected Yusef of actively _trying_ to mess things up for him and Christian

Hmm, probably not; that might be the _one_ thing on which he and Yusef actually saw eye-to-eye...

“Dad?”

“Sit a minute, Syed.”

Hmm, not necessarily a bad sign: they'd had talks before and generally they'd been matter-of-fact, not much in the way of lectures or scoldings. When his dad was ready to scold him he didn't tend to be this reasonable _beforehand_. The funny thing about the way his dad went about things, in contrast to his mum, was that he found that he tended to _prefer_ his mum's unreasonable, shouting method of admonishment. There was something about the way his dad stuck the knife in that made Syed really uncomfortable. His mum always came at you, knife held eye, murder in her eye; with his dad you tended to only know you'd been cut when you saw your own blood dripping on the floor from the knife wound dealt so unexpectedly that you hadn't even really felt it go in.

He guessed they were opposites – his mum and dad - which probably explained why they were so attracted to each other. He guessed that was part of the reason he and Christian worked too: they were definitely opposites in many, many ways...

“Dad, you do know that I'm not 15 any more don't you?”

Laughing, his dad moved a cushion out of the way before taking the seat beside him. “I do.”

“Good, because just for a minute there I thought we were going to have 'The Talk'.”

“Oh, son, I wasn't even successfully able to deliver that talk to your brother – and _you_ were a lot harder.”

“Was I?”

His dad examined his face for a moment in thoughtful silence. “You're very much like your mother.”

And well, that was an answer if ever there was one. “We couldn't ever have imagined any of this then, could we?”

His dad sighed. “Oh son, never a truer word. Who would ever have imagined that my only daughter would be living in Pakistan; that my youngest would be married to my wife's ex husband; my eldest would be living next door with his male partner; that I would be divorced and living in the local B and B...” He gazed solemnly at Syed, and Syed gazed solemnly back.

His dad was the first to grin, but once they started they couldn’t stop and ended up laughing so loudly and uninhibitedly that Tamwar was sent to find out what was going on.

“Nothing, son. Come in, come in.” His dad patted the sofa beside him.

Looking like a deer caught in headlights, Tamwar hesitated, then with a determined shrug of the shoulder closed the door firmly behind him. “Now if I didn't know better I'd swear that there was alcohol involved somewhere.” He made a point of sniffing the air.

“Oh don't worry, not even _Christian_ could get me on that stuff.”

“Speaking of which,” Tamwar sat on the other side of his father. “Although I suppose it's actually more correct – grammatically speaking – to say 'speaking of whom'.”

“Speaking of whom?” Syed encouraged.

“Yeah – Christian. Oh by the way is it really fair to leave him alone with... everyone? I mean I know he's gay and everything, but I don't think even _his_ resilient flamboyance is any match for _three_ women.”

Syed and his dad gaped at each other.

“Resilient flamboyance? Seriously, Tambo?”

“You know what I mean,” he protested. “I mean, I’ve _seen_ him with women – he's not fazed, not ever. But I suppose that's probably natural, considering that he doesn't actually see them as actual potential sexual partners. Actually-”

“Tambo?”

“Sorry?”

“Stop talking.”

 

**

Christian was basically told to sit in the corner and shut the fuck up. Of course not in so many words, but no more _politely_ than that, probably _less_ politely when it came down to it. It seemed to him that Amira's presence was bringing out the very worst in Zainab, and whatever progress they'd made – been making – had been wiped clean away.

He could see it, of course: Amira was still the family's hope for bringing Syed back to his senses, and from what he could see Zainab seemed genuinely fond of her. She'd _never_ been fond of him. The fact that he was Syed's choice changed that not one iota, if anything it weighed _against_ him. But _because_ he could see her point of view and had petty much resigned himself to the fact that Syed's family were _never_ going to like him, he didn’t let the overt hostility bother him.

Watching Amira dig herself in, get comfortable was actually pretty entertaining: a master at work. 

While Zainab was extremely intelligent she was also really upfront and straightforward, subterfuge an alien concept to her, which went some way in explaining why it was that she seemed unable to see how Amira was working her. And the girl _was_ subtle, a lot cleverer than even Christian had been expecting. She'd sighted her mark – Zainab – and was patiently working her, careful to take only the tiniest, incremental steps toward her goal. Christian could only sit back and admire Amira, really. He'd suspected she was good, but to be on the other side of it – amazing.

The most amazing thing to his mind, though, was the way she seemed not to factor Syed into this at all: she clearly saw Zainab as her way in, and Christian could only surmise that she must have felt that once she was in that powerful position her influence could be extended to Syed.

Nice plan: what a fucking shame it was destined to fail. 

But why not let it run its course? 

He didn't _hate_ Amira, but if her plan was to fuck him up through Syed's love for his family well then all bets were fucking off! You didn’t claim to love someone then try to get to them by using their vulnerabilities _against_ them. Far as he was concerned what befell her now would be wholly down to her and her alone.

All she had to do was prove her love by fucking _loving_ him, allowing him to be bloody happy, even if it were with someone else. 

It had bloody _killed_ him when Syed had pretty much decided he wanted Amira instead of him, but if Christian had really bloody _believed_ that then he would have walked away – he loved him _that_ fucking much. The only reason he'd stuck around, kept trying was because he bloody well knew that Syed was drowning and needed someone to pull him to shore. That was what love _was_ – doing whatever it took to make him happy, even when it hurt you just a little bit inside. And all of this hurt, it really did: he could never be daddy to Yasmin, they'd always have Amira in their lives, and Syed wasn't happy when he should have been – being a daddy was all he'd ever wanted, but this, this wasn't making _anyone_ happy.

He knew that Syed was intent on blaming Yusef, but it was hardly Yusef's fault that Yasmin was in the world, not Amira's fault either, nor was it Syed's. It was just life, and the thing about life was that you just had to _deal_. 

Had no fucking choice.

 

**

“So how does it feel?”

Syed frowned at his dad. “What? What do you mean?”

“Being a dad.” He patted him on the thigh. “You've no idea how pleased me and your mum are to welcome Yasmin to the family. She's beautiful, Syed.”

Yes, of course she was. “It's hard to put into words. I didn't really expect it to feel like this.”

“Tell me about it. You think you're prepared, but somehow you never are.” He turned to Tamwar. “I'd done it twice already, Tam, yet when you came along it was the same – that feeling that just fills you up inside.”

Syed, catching sight of his brother's face, grinned. 

“Dad, if this is your way of asking me when me and Afia are gonna start a family...”

Laughing, his dad gave his son's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No, don't worry, although now you mention it...”

“Dad, we've only just got _married_. Please, please, please give us time to _enjoy_ our marriage. You've _got_ a granddaughter – a beautiful, gorgeous, brand-new granddaughter...” 

He was practically in tears and Syed couldn't help laughing at his brother's distress. “I dunno, Tambo, I think mum and dad were hoping for _twins_.”

His dad caught his eye. “Yes, your mother has always wanted twin boys to dress up and show off. It would make her _so_ happy, Tamwar.”

Tamwar stared at his dad in frank, open-mouthed horror. “Sorry? You can't just decide to have _twins_ , you can't even decide to have a boy or a girl.”

“I hear they do those fertility treatments, so you could even have triplets or quadruplets. Or even quintuplets. Right dad? Imagine how _proud_ mum would be of you! You'd probably never have to cook another meal again!”

“Erm, I own a restaurant? So, technically I never have to cook another meal anyway, and I know you're teasing me – mum would _never_ agree to fertility treatment!”

Syed and his dad looked at each other, and stifled their laughter. “But twins? I dunno, she _might,_ so long as she was allowed to dress the babies up.”

“Er you do know that this is all hypothetical don't you, Syed? We're not starting a family and we're not having twins.” He actually folded his arms across his chest, a look of stubborn determination on his face.

Syed sat back on the sofa and did his best not to laugh. Tamwar could be so unintentionally humorous at times, and for all that he was definitely all grown up now he could still revert back to childhood habits with the right push. 

This was nice; reminded him of the old days when they used to sit here together like this, mum and Shab in the kitchen, having their heart-to-hearts. Tamwar had so wanted to be part of the grown up world. Syed chuckled to himself as he considered just how much his brother probably wanted to return to those long lost childhood days. And, at times, he did too, but well you never could, could you, and there really was _very_ little he'd change about his life now, or the choices that had led him here. Christian and Yasmin – that's where his choices had led, so how could he possibly regret any of it?

“Dad, I still intend to marry him, you know, Nothing's changed.”

His dad looked at him, eyes solemn. “Nothing's changed? Really, son?” He held his arms out wide. “ _Everything's_ changed. Surely you can see that.”

Syed sat up, noting as he did so Tamwar trying to make himself as small as possible, disappear into the corner of the sofa. “I have a daughter, which I'm ecstatic about; I have a partner I adore and intend to marry. How has everything changed so drastically?”

“Syed, please. Stop being so naïve. Now, it's my granddaughter's birthday party so I don't want us to argue today.”

“And neither do I, because there's nothing to talk _about_ , dad. I know you've always had a soft spot for Amira and that's fine, she and I have always been friends, I always wanted her to be a part of this family and with her being Yasmin's mum, that's obviously going to happen. But if you think that there's ever going to be more than friendship between us then you're the one who needs to stop being so naive.” He wasn't angry yet, but knew that should his dad press or say the wrong thing the fragile rapprochement they'd achieved would crumble like a house of cards.

“Er, I think I hear Afia calling.” Tamwar got swiftly to his feet and headed for the door. 

No-one stopped him.

His dad was holding his gaze, measuring him, assessing the situation. No, he definitely didn't want to argue today, that much was obvious.

“Dad, I'm with him, I'm going to marry him. Yasmin is my child and I'd do almost anything to have her in my life. Giving up Christian isn't one of those things.”

“You'd choose him over your daughter?”

Syed stared into his eyes. “You'd choose your religion over your son?”

“That's not fair.”

“No, _I_ didn't think it was very fair either.”

“Syed, you know why. Let's not go raking over the ashes.”

“Embers, maybe, dad, but not ashes. Everything’s always a choice with you and mum isn't it? How about compromise? How about flexibility? See, here's the thing: being with Christian and having full access to my child isn't easy. I know it isn't, but I'm prepared to make it work. I'm never going to do that again – choose one thing I love over another-”

“Well, that's because you don't understand what it means to be a parent.”

“I guess not, since I don't see how I'd ever disown Yasmin simply for not being who _I_ wanted her to be-”

“It wasn't that simple-”

“Dad, you can cite the Koran as much as you like, tell me how Islam forbids homosexuality. The fact is, you chose your religion over _me._ You didn’t _have_ to. I mean we're talking now, aren't we? We're talking, we're in the same space and nothing's exploded, nothing's caught on fire.”

“Syed-”

“No, dad, you made a choice and you didn't have to make that choice – you decided to because you didn’t love me enough to try to understand and accept me. So you know, if that's what I'm supposed to be using as a model for how parents should behave, do you mind if I decide to use my _own_ model?”

His dad looked upset, and he was sorry, but saying that, finally saying it had been necessary and seemed to have purged him of something he'd been unconsciously holding on to. He wanted to be back in the fold, true, but the fact is he hadn't forgive them, hadn’t even _realised_ it until just now, and he needed to let go of that, finally move on so that in time he _could_ let them back into his heart.

“I do love you. We both do.”

“Not enough, dad, but that's okay, we both know where we stand don't we?”

“At opposite ends of the room? Well, that's not what I want for us, Syed.” He took hold of Syed's arm. “I know we've a way to go, but can we at least _try_ , try to forgive each other?”

Syed took a deep, deep breath, unprepared or the surge of emotion flooding him. “Yes, dad. Yes.”

And his dad kept hold of his arm, though he turned his face away, using his left arm to wipe it...

 

**

Tamwar looked like a sulky teenage geek. He'd always thought so. Who _dressed_ the guy for a start? He'd always found the fact that he was Syed's brother really amusing, and never failed to tell Syed so.

“Erm, they're fine, mum, just talking.” He contemplated taking a samosa from the massive plate filled with them, then thought better of it. “They're just being dad and Syed, you know, not funny, only _think_ they are.”

Aw, had they been teasing the poor little sod? “So when's the party starting ?” he asked, rubbing his hands with theatrical relish. “I mean the music, the dancing girls – and boys.” He winked at Afia, who grinned back. “Oh come on. Yasmin won't know she's _had_ a birthday, will you darlin'?”

“We are quite capable of holding a birthday party for my granddaughter, without music or 'dancing boys', thank you very much,”

“Yes, but will it be a _memorable_ one?”

“Oh do not worry, Christian, there will be many, many more. Of course _you_ will not be in attendance ,so the absence of dancing boys will not matter then, will it?”

Poisonous cow. But guess what: he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. “You're right – maybe she'd end up being more interested in dancing _girls_.”

Afia looked shocked, hand up to her mouth, but her shock almost immediately turned into amusement and the hand was used to hide her smile. Well he had _one_ on his side at least. Funny, he was usual better at charming the ladies...

“Auntie, can we get Syed here? I know she's only young, but she's really bonded with him and I can tell,” She picked up her daughter, “She's missing him.”

For god's sake! Sy had been gone a few bloody minutes. “Okay, I'll get him.” He headed for the door. 

He could sense them both repressing the urge to tell him to fuck off and die, but really, him offering to fetch his partner, how could anyone call that out of order or accuse him of taking liberties? He could feel the daggers of ill intent aimed at his retreating back, and because he was a contrary prick decided to add an extra swagger to his walk.

Fuck you too, ladies: like it or not, he's my man more than he'll _ever_ be yours, and you know what? You can both just suck it. 

God, what a bloody awful fucking image...

He knocked softly at the lounge door and waited for permission to enter.

He could immediately sense that there'd be some type of row. Oh god, what now? But Syed's nod of reassurance, persuaded him that it was being handled. “Sorry to interrupt, but apparently daddy Sy is needed in the other room.”

“Is she alright?” He made an abortive attempt to rise.

Christian could see that Syed's dad had hold of his arm, apparently not letting go any time soon, and a quick glance at Masood's face... Okay, time to beat a hasty retreat. “Yes, she's fine, Sy. Just missing you. Come when you're ready.”T heir eyes met and a perfect moment of silent communication passed between them. “See you in a bit,” he promised, closing the door.

Well, that was unexpected. A minute ago they'd been laughing now Masood was in tears – and Sy didn't look much better.

Oh God, was it going to be one of _those_ days?

He bloody well hoped not.

 

**

“I hate that you think that, that we don't love you.”

“Dad-”

“No, son, that's what you think. Isn't it? That me and your mum didn’t love you enough. Well it's not true, it's _never_ been true, Syed. We love _all_ of you – we live for you kids. What do you think it's all _about_ for us?”

Syed gave an internal sigh. He hated this, mostly because they could talk all they wanted, but it wouldn't change the facts. His dad saw it one way, he saw it another. Didn’t see how that would ever change. “Dad, I know you love us, but the truth is that you were willing to disown me, cut me out of your life completely. It wasn’t even because I stopped loving you and mum. I was prepared to live a life that wasn’t mine, that tore me up inside at the mere thought of pretending to be something I wasn’t, for _you_ , for you and mum. You were never willing to do the same for _me_. I could understand you drawing that line, cutting me off for something I did, like rape, murder – theft even – but for simply being born gay? How is that fair, how is that loving me? Do you have any idea what I was going through then, dad, how much turmoil I was feeling? I had a man who loved me, who was willing to do just about anything for me, a guy who even let me marry someone else because I told him I couldn’t let you and mum down, and I had to give him up simply because I didn’t want to bring shame on you.” He gave a little laugh. “Shame, dad? Since when has _shame_ killed anyone? You'd rather have seen me homeless, friendless, dead in some gutter rather than have to face the _shame_ of having a gay child? How do you think that _feels_ , dad? I know you can't really see it from my point of view, but could you just for one second _try_? If I could have walked away and never had to see either of you again I would have. So much easier than having a constant reminder of the fact that my parents didn’t love me – not the real me – that once they found out who I really was they abandoned me. 

Do you know what mum said to me in hospital?” His tone became deceptively mild, almost conversational. “I was unconscious and really thought I was dreaming at first and you know, for ages afterwards I decided that, yeah, it was a dream. But it wasn’t.” He stared at his dad's profile until the other man turned and met his gaze. “She told me, dad, that she wished I'd died, that I'd taken my own life because that would have been better for all concerned.” Since he was watching his dad so closely Syed saw that he hadn’t known but that while he was shocked wasn't especially surprised, appalled or angered. Which was just about what he’d expected, really. Because while his dad may not have voiced those sentiments in that way, under the same circumstances, he could probably recall having those very same thoughts meander through his head at some point. 

So yeah, really no point. 

Sure they could put a plaster on the wound, pretend they were over it, but there were, apparently, some cuts _too_ deep for healing. 

He did wonder why, exactly, his parents thought _they_ were the ones being so damn magnanimous though. Of course it had taken him a really, really long time to accept that he hadn't done anything wrong, that being gay wasn’t some deep transgression against his parents values and sensibilities. Christian had, at one point, asked him if he'd ever considered that him coming out might have been a test of his parents values and that they'd nailed their colours to the mast with their choice, and thus it was a matter for them and _their_ conscious, no concern of Syed's. Of course they'd argued about it, Syed even more convinced than ever that Christian had no sense of family loyalty, no clue what it meant to be a good Muslim. Christian hadn’t been impressed – like always – telling him to grow up, to wake up and smell the coffee, his parents weren’t paragons of virtue so stop treating them like saints and him like some bloody clueless heathen. He might not know what it took to be a good Muslim but he sure as fuck knew what it took to be a decent human being, and walking straight past your gay son in the street like he was invisible wasn’t anywhere on the list.

It had taken some time, but eventually Syed had noticed his attitude changing. Initially there'd been anger and guilt, resentment and longing, an inchoate yearning to make things right with them. Then one morning he'd woken up and felt...neutral...not at all bothered whether or not they turned their face on seeing him, turned and walked the other way. It was like a huge weight had dropped from his shoulders, and really, if he could pinpoint an exact moment when he fully embraced his sexuality, his love for Christian, as his partner, his future spouse, well he’d have to say that moment probably qualified.

In retrospect it was as though there hadn't been _room_ for any of that, not with the guilty regret taking up all the space, and it was only once he'd dropped that, let it go, that the rest could come flooding in.

And he quite honestly hadn't understood what people meant when they spoke of baggage _until_ then, but he'd been carrying a ton of it, and though Christian had offered to take some from him turns out that _he_ had to be the one to actually let it go – Christian couldn’t _force_ it from him – and he quite obviously hadn’t _wanted_ to – until such time that he _had_ wanted to, and thus let it go.

He realised, of course, that had he not managed to release that burden, turn from the impulse to shoulder the blame for all that had transpired, these latest developments with Amira would have brought him to his knees. The only reason he was able to be so certain of a positive outcome for himself and Christian was that he'd _made_ that commitment – in his head as well as his heart – so that the phantoms from the past could not now appear in the form of unfinished business and throw him off course. He was aware that Amira placed herself very much in the category of unfinished business and, as such, felt that she was holding the best hand of all. But he wasn't going to full on tell her to her _face_ that he no longer felt that he'd die from the effects of guilt if he were to decide never to see her again, if he were cut her out of his life completely, because while that was essentially _true_ he most definitely didn't want Yasmin to grow up without a mother, so had to accept that one way or another Amira was always going to be around.

Funny, but he'd never felt burdened by her love, mostly because he understood now that he'd just never loved her in return, so hadn't felt that connection that meant that _you_ hurt when they hurt. He'd only ever felt that with Christian. 

He imagined that should he ever hurt _Christian_ the way he'd ostensibly hurt Amira, the guilt would cripple him for pretty much ever.

“Look, Syed.” His dad was looking solemn, regretful, but there was, underneath the regret, a thread of steely determination. “We can admit that there were mistakes made on both sides – but we're _family_ , and the birth of a child, isn't that a chance to make a fresh start?”

Syed looked at him, wondering how to respond. Clearly his dad agreed – although he wasn't actually coming right out and saying so – that they were always going to see this differently: his dad believing that it was he and Syed's _mother_ who were making the concessions, making them _because_ they loved him. No point arguing though. His dad was right: why not use this as an opportunity for a fresh start? So Syed pulled him into a hug, and offered up his silent agreement.

 

 

**

“So, Afia,” He plonked himself down beside her, noting that she made no effort to move away even a little, not so much as a twitch of discomfort. It was his understanding, just from being around Zainab, in addition to certain things he'd learned from Syed, that female modesty was a big deal for Pakistanis. He personally didn't think the concept of modesty was at all applicable to Zainab Masood - nor either of her daughters-in-law come to think of it, but understood that it was used very specifically in terms of sexual conduct.

 

He'd always fucking hated censorship of _any_ kind, but especially as it applied to women. The reason he liked Roxy and Kim was because they had no sense of modesty whatsoever. And that's as it should be. He hated men who were uptight, hated women who were _just_ as much. The most fun he'd ever had, for as long as he could remember, had invariably been with women who weren't afraid to let their hair down and party. He'd long sensed – and more particularly after teaching her and her to dance – that given the right incentive Afia would be quite the party animal. He kind of hated to see her acting all modest and decorous the way she always was around the Masoods. But understood that these people pretty much turned hypocrisy and two-faced behaviour into an art form, enshrined in their book, their cultural norms. He was pretty relieved that Syed was starting to open his eyes a bit more to it now. Didn’t want him to _renounce_ anything, just to see it _clearly_ so that he could make his decisions from a place of clear-eyed objectivity.

“Shall we get this party started?”

Grinning, she looked at him, but didn't answer.

“Hey, I'm serious. Do you really want your little niece to have a first birthday party _this_ dry?” He gestured with his arms, taking in the table groaning with food, the balloons, the three people standing there staring at them, looking, it had to be said, like partying was the very _last_ thing on their minds... “Come on, I'm sure you must have some Beyonce, some Rhianna stashed away somewhere. Of course I could always go next door and raid _my_ collection...”

Afia was laughing, looking quite mischievous. “Oh God, dance music?”

“Well I was thinking Show Tunes, to be honest.”

“Well I'll go and find the Beyonce myself, then. Anything to stop you playing 'Show Tunes' at my niece's first birthday party!” Tamwar was looking like a constipated hamster.

Christian smiled up at him. “You have Beyonce, Tamwar? Well there's hope for you yet. Maybe you can start playing for our team, part-time.” He laughed when Afia snacked him on the arm, her face a picture, but it was the expressions on the faces of Amira and Zainab that were _really_ amusing him. “I’ll see what Syed thinks.”

“Tamwar, you and Afia go and get this... music... you are talking about.” 

Zainab was preparing herself for a rant, he could tell. He wondered idly if she'd also try to spare her granddaughter's sensibilities...

“Mum, it's alright. Christian was only joking-” Christian didn't even know why Tamwar even _tried_. Admired him for it, though.

“Tamwar, you have been told. Now _do_ as you are told.” 

He was sure that had he had some type of infra-red camera he'd have been able to actually _see_ the steam coming from the top of her head.

“Look, everybody, it's my niece's birthday party. Can we not do this, for once can we just not fight?”

“Tamwar!”

“Okay, okay, we're going, but I'm calling dad and Syed in.” Glancing at Afia – a question: staying or coming? - he stomped out of the room, Afia on his heels.

So...

He looked up at the two women who, as far as he was aware, out of everyone in the entire world, hated him the most, and folded his arms, waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
